Since retiring I have spent most of my waking hours alone. That is not necessarily a bad thing in some cases. I like myself ok and I converse with myself on a regular basis. So much so that I have to be careful when I’m in public that I don’t start rattling on about something nonsensical, making others I come in contact with think that I have a screw loose.

Well, actually I do have a screw loose. It’s stripped beyond repair and therefore I am apt to say and or do the most ridiculous things at times.

Dear Don is the one who stripped my loose screw while trying to tighten it up over the years.

He says I blame him for everything, but I say who else is there to blame?

Ok, back to the subject. Spending so much alone time has made me prone to completely ignore Dear ‘ol Don when he is home. I don’t do it out of any malicious intent. I just forget he’s here. I answer questions he asks me in my head with no visible or audible answer, often leaving him perplexed about what I want or need or what I’m doing. I need to work on that.

The only time I don’t ignore him lately is when we do the kitchen dance. You know the dance you do in the kitchen when one or the other is in the way of where you need to be?

You step up and step back and then a couple of do-si- dos added in to make it like an old fashioned barn dance of sorts. We sashay around one another, he’s fixing the tea and I’m serving up the plates. If we had music in the background we may even have something close to reality going on in these moments.

The older we get and the more time we are together the more moments we have apart it seems. We are both comfortable enough in our relationship that we don’t HAVE to stay attached at the hip like in years past. We have never been the couple that did everything apart. We like each other’s company and enjoy those times when we are together.

On Sunday afternoons we go for a much-anticipated “Sunday drive.”

We hardly ever have a destination in mind and can wind up in the strangest places. One such Sunday brought a ride down Hwy. 51 South and into Tallahatchie County. We took a right somewhere and rode back into areas deep and dark and unfamiliar to us both. After hours of taking this turn and that, I got a little concerned as light faded. But never fear, Dear Don and his keen sense of direction brought us back to familiar landmarks and on to Plum Point. It is disconcerting to me, one who is so directionally challenged, to not know where I am.

Usually on these trips the only stop we make is for nabs and drinks. We try to find country stores we haven’t been to before. We are fascinated with little out-of-the-way Mom and Pop stores. They have the most interesting items, the drinks are ice cold and the food is almost always good.

So I guess in retrospect I need to stop ignoring Dear Don and remember that he is here and I am not alone for those few fleeting instances when he is not asleep or in his shop piddlin’ around with something.

I will try harder to be more audible and not so quiet. But most of all I will continue to look forward to the Sunday drives that take us to places unknown. The anticipation makes me giddy.

You get the picture.

(Contact award-winning columnist Sherry Hopkins at swhcsc@wildblue.net.)